


Not Today

by KY Lowell (TachyonStar)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 18:17:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TachyonStar/pseuds/KY%20Lowell
Summary: It's not every day a son of Sparda stumbles into your personal slice of hell, and you're not about to let him be killed there. (Vergil & f!reader)





	Not Today

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, still at the requests!
> 
> Not strictly pairing this time, and honestly I don't know where the heck the idea came from, but hell with it. I ran with it. I like how it turned out, anyway.
> 
> Still open for requests: https://but-two-days-old.tumblr.com/post/186461623433/

This, you think as you stare at the sight before you, was _not_ at all what you were expecting to find today.

It is rare for anyone to wander into your territory, and for it to be a half-_human_ at that…if not for the obvious seriousness of the situation, you might laugh at the sheer audacity, and you're sorely tempted anyway. Something holds you back, however, something you can't quite put your finger on, and instead you step closer, circle the fallen man at a safe distance (as badly wounded as he is, he must have _some_ skill to make it here), and size him up as best you can. Even obviously worn down and injured, he radiates a most intriguing sense of power, one that draws you a few steps closer once you're reasonably certain he's not a threat - and then a few more, and more, because he's not _moving_ though you can sense he's still alive, and then you're crouching at his side so you can get a good look at him. He's not unattractive, by demonic standards (and you know _enough_ of humans to know he must be devastatingly good-looking to them), and after weighing your options, you decide it's probably safe enough to get a better look and reach out, clasping his blood-smeared chin in your fingers to turn his head.

He groans at your touch, weak and exhausted; his eyelids flutter, pale lashes parting just enough to reveal slivers of icy blue, and it's all you can do not to react because suddenly you understand how this pitiful being has made it _here_.

_Son of Sparda,_ your instincts are hissing, power surging beneath your skin, lighting your eyes with unholy fire. _Strong. Worthy._

You are beginning to consider _speaking_ to him when a raucous din approaches, tearing your attention away, and the last pieces of the puzzle fall into place when you raise your eyes to see the surging mass of demons making its way towards you.

These are not your demons - they are not of your territory. They must have chased him here, and--

He cannot defend himself, and the both of you know it, resignation very clear in his face before his eyelids fall closed again, before he lets unconsciousness claim him once more to stave off the pain of what he clearly assumes is his fate.

You don't have a weapon on you capable of dealing with so many demons, but even so, you are not going to let that happen.

One more glance over the man's body turns up a detail you hadn't noticed before, the sheath of a sword peering out from beneath his tattered coat, and you're snatching it up before you can even think about it, feeling it hum and pulsate in your hand at the feel of your own demonic energy like it's begging for your aid. (Perhaps it is - it feels like a very powerful Devil Arm in its own right, but one that knows itself useless without a master, and you can sense a furious grief that can only be caused by the thought of the son of Sparda perishing here at your feet.) "Lend me your power," you breathe, grasp the hilt with your right hand and slide into a stance that comes to you with fluid ease, closing your eyes for just a moment with a deep breath. "And I'll lend you mine."

Blue lightning crackles round the hilt; curious energy pricks at the corners of your mind now, a not-quite-voice that you can hardly comprehend. _\--you - demoness - save - help him? - protect--_

"Yes," you agree, open your eyes, loosen the sword from its sheath with a flick of your thumb. "With your help."

_\--help--_

Power floods you, and you leap forward, the demon blade's edge seeming to _sing_ as it rends the very air.

The son of Sparda will not die here today - neither you nor the Yamato will allow it.


End file.
